7 Second Life
by Proclivity4aks
Summary: Three young marines find themselves in the thick of Shepard's war with the Reapers when their unit is deployed to the Citadel.  The reality of life sets in when a series of mistakes leads the trio to the front lines of an unconventional war.
1. Disclaimer and Author's Note

Disclaimer: The Mass Effect story and characters are copyright of Bioware. I lay no claim to ownership. I do, however, play in its sandbox. So I might be trespassing.

A/N: This is my first fan fiction, but it is not my first work of literature (otherwise known as a "chunk-o-text"). I'd like to point out that I am not an expert in the ME universe, so if I make a mistake regarding historical context, please inform me. I'd like to make this correlate as much as possible. However, I am taking some liberties with it. Those should be fairly obvious.

The background to _7 Seconds_ involves a Paragon Shepard with a shade of Renegade (because he's much cooler that way). Also, it is assuming a MShep/Tali relationship.

Albeit this story does not necessarily revolve around Shepard and Tali, I chose to include those characters as my story's descriptors. This is because their relationship will play an important role for the narrator and his compatriots in a subplot. I apologize if this disappoints anyone, but I urge you to read on anyway, because you might be surprised.

Also, this story is rated Mature due to language, violence, and sexual content. Language and crude subjects will be prevalent. Hey, it's the military.

Speaking of which, I ship for OSUT next week and will be gone for 19 weeks for 19D training with the US Army. So this will be the last you see of me for a long time. I would like to continue the story afterwards, utilizing the knowledge I obtain in tactical warfare. However, I'll be active duty, and I _will_ be deployed for at least one year, so we'll see. Wish me luck.

On a final note, when I do return, I will be contacting particular authors on this site to request permission to use some of their ideas and incorporate them here. It'll be a fanfic of a fanfic…kind of. I understand that the authors here submit their work anonymously, making their work unable to copyright. Even so, I would rather request permission out of respect for their talent.

Please review ruthlessly. Grammatical errors _should_ be nominal, as I am quite a grammar freak. But if the plot sucks, just say so. Even better, give me some advice on how to make it better. It's the reason we can edit. Just please keep your comments civil, as I won't respond to belligerence.

Good luck everyone. I look forward to reading your stories and continuing my own.


	2. Chapter 1: Rapid Deployment

Rapid Deployment

_Shit_, I think while peering down at my plate. Riley pokes a fork into the synthetic scrambled eggs on his tray, picking at them like an infected wound.

"Someone needs to tell brass the chickens are shitting rotten eggs. This is sick."

"For real," I nod. _Third day this week. Fuck._ I stab the mound on my plate and it jiggles like Jell-O.

"This shit could gag a maggot," remarks Cesar with a smirk. "Well, only one way to fix this…." He reaches and grabs the squeeze bottle of Hines' Ketchup and begins drowning the beast on his plate.

"No way," I protest my disgust, "You're really going to eat –" Before I can finish he forks a lump into his mouth and chews with an evil grin.

"Yep," he says and shoots bits of synthi-egg from his mouth across the table. I nearly jump from my chair but I realize it's too late.

"Fuck you, Cesar…fuck you." Taking my napkin, I clean the bits from my VCU jacket.

"Yeah, you'd like to, wouldn't you, JJ?"

"Lay off, ass-face," I volley back. He just laughs. Luckily he had already swallowed beforehand.

"Hey, think I can get lucky with your sister, Ceeze?" Riley trumps our banter. Cesar just shakes his head, grinning.

This is how most days began for me in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps. Wake up at 0430, shave, report for PT at 0500, fall in for "breakfast" at 0600, then get my ass kicked by platoon Gunnery Sergeant Handke's "corrective" PT at 0630 along with Riley and Cesar, at which point breakfast was usually completely unnecessary. After that we report to duty stations on base at 0700. Chow at 1230 hours, then classroom and field training the rest of the day. Sometimes Handke found us and we had an extra two hours of PT before lights out, no time to shower. Those days sucked the most and made me question what I was doing in the Marine Corps at all. Occasionally I needed a reminder.

So why was I an Alliance marine? Well, it was actually kind of simple. I needed the money for school. My folks weren't the wealthiest couple on Earth, but insisted I get an education despite my resistance. So, being the proactive son that I was, I decided to skip the whole job-search adventure and scan my finger on the holo and hand over my freedom to Alliance Command. Plus there was the Shepard scholarship. Tuition paid in full so long as I went to an Alliance vetted university. Needless to say, Mom and Dad both freaked when I came home with my papers. Sure, I wasn't exactly completely forthcoming with my plan, but I had assumed they would see my logic. Nope.

By the time my folks had decided to kick me to the street, it was time for me to ship to Basic anyway. I packed my bag and left. I can't say I don't regret some of it now. Hell, I haven't spoken with them since I started my training, nearly two years ago. Mom and Dad were vehemently anti-violence, which also meant anti-war and anti-me-joining-the-armed-forces. They fortunately weren't activists, but I know they had some strong feelings on the First Contact War. It apparently wasn't our business to provoke other sapients like that. I agree, but I never understood why they felt this way considering when it happened we weren't even aware of other sentient life in the galaxy other than the Protheans, and they were likely extinct.

Riley and Cesar were the guys I decided I should hang with at Paris Island. I can't say that was a very good idea, either; they were always getting my ass in trouble with them, but at least it was fun. Then again, after graduation I had managed to gain rank quicker than either of those idiots. Keeping your mouth shut around the sergeants and officers paid off sometimes. It was either by luck or a serious miscarriage of order, but we all somehow ended up in the same company platoon. Most of the guys had been spread out, assigned to different areas; some, like us, remained planet-side while others were spaced as far as the colonies on the brink. So here we were, stationed at AMC Littlecreek, Virginia. It also happened to be AMC Headquarters on Earth, as well as the most boring place in Sol. It helped having Riley and Cesar here, despite the shit they seemed to pile my way every morning.

"I heard we've got some Navy admiral jerk-off visiting the base today," Riley says. "You hear anything JJ?"

"Yeah," I nod. _And they wonder why I made Corporal_. "'Jerk-off?' Really?" Riley shrugs.

"He's Navy," is all he says. I had to smile a bit at that. _Heh, Navy_.

"He's also an admiral," I finally correct him. "If he heard you say that you'd be cleaning Krogan latrines with your tongue the rest of your career."

"Whatever, no one can hear us in this asylum."

I glance around the room, taking note of the full rows of cafeteria tables. Conversations make for a pleasant, yet slightly irregular background noise in the mess hall.

"That may be, but you never know. I'm pretty sure Handke has us bugged," Cesar snorts and gives us his usual anecdote regarding our NCO.

"Fuck that bitch."

"And besides," I continue, "Commander Shepard is Navy. Would you fuck with a badass like him?" Cesar, finishing his eggs lathered in ketchup, makes an assessment.

"If I had tits and a pussy, I would." Riley and I blink a moment, taking in what we had just heard.

"But everyone knows he began as a marine," Riley says with satisfaction. "Nobody can kill a reaper like a marine can." Cesar lets out an accomplished _Ooo-rah_ in agreement before wiping his mouth with the blocks of wood they called napkins around here. We had long since determined the rumors about the reapers were probably true, if for no other reason than to have something to look forward to fighting. Of course, we had also agreed that Turians were, in fact, unisex like the Asari except they were all male. That was an unsettling revelation.

Riley leans forward from across the table, angling his steeled green eyes up at me to mimic some form of seriousness. "So why is he here? Navy brass never means anything good for us jarheads."

"He's prolly gonna bend you over and have his way with you, Riley," Cesar interjects. Riley turns and knuckle punches him in the shoulder then looks back at me for an answer.

"Dunno," I shrug. "Could be something to do with Shepard's resurrection. The news vids have been going crazy ever since the Council made it public. Then again, it could be nothing."

"I think that guy is the Second Coming," Cesar comments. "There's no way you can get spaced and survive that, man."

"Who knows," Riley concludes. "I just hope this admiral doesn't 'fix' our system around here. I hate it when some puke comes in and thinks they can call the shots."

I nod and see Cesar do the same before deciding to turn in my uneaten breakfast to the recycle bin. It was disconcerting that uneaten food went in the recycle here. _What did they do with –_

"Ah-ten-shun!" someone shouts. Before I can muster cursing we're all standing at attention, eyes forward. The mess hall is completely quiet and Riley, Cesar and I are all staring at one another, silently asking the same question. A couple of tables over a fork falls and clatters against the floor. No one takes notice.

"As you were, marines," a familiar voice commands us. We all return to our seats and observe General Kristoff at the mess hall entrance. With him, a Navy admiral and an entourage of officers. Both four-stars were dressed to impress in their best uniforms, probably prepped for them by some unfortunate orderly. Of all the jobs in the military, why would anyone want to baby-sit the top brass?

"Gentlemen," the general addresses us with a twisted smile, "you will all look back someday to this moment and realize this was the best damned thing that ever happened to you." He pauses, then adds. "The 210th is being deployed." I can feel the hair at the nape of my neck standing. _Goodbye Littlecreek!_ I look over at Riley and Cesar, who glance at me with a grin before returning to the General.

"In case you sorry jackasses didn't know, that's you," he concludes with a warmer smile, garnering a few laughs. He motions to the Navy admiral at his side and gives him the floor.

"Morning Marines," he says in a deep, slightly insidious voice while eyeing us all up. The mess hall is shattered with the reply.

"Morning, Sir!" I begin to wonder why this isn't being held in formation.

"I am Admiral Hackett, Fifth Fleet," he introduces himself and begins to pace a ten-foot area, hands crossed behind him. "Everyone recalls the Geth attack on the Citadel from two years ago, right?" Everyone _Oo-rah_'s and nods. "And surely you are all aware of the recent Collector abductions outside Citadel Space. It has been brought to my attention that these attacks may have only been the beginning of a full-scale war. Rogue Spectre Saren Arterius and his army were only one element of the enemy, as well as the Collectors. I'll spare you the details, though." He pauses and looks straight at the group. "The Citadel Council has requested assistance from Alliance Command. We have been authorized to mobilize, gentlemen!" The room erupts in cheers. I sit there, slightly dumbfounded. No one seems to notice how informal this is. And informal with the generals always means bad. I look at Riley and Cesar for some sign of concurrence but receive none. They're too enamored by what they're hearing to notice. General Kristoff raises his hands, quieting the rowdy bunch.

"All right, Marines," the General says and takes control. Admiral Hackett turns and quietly leaves the room. _Something isn't right_, I think. "We've got orders to move at 0800 _today_. That means in less than two hours, people! You will be transported to the Citadel and be briefed on site. Grab you gear and report to your platoon sergeants. Dismissed."

The mess hall suddenly becomes a circus, with everyone moving to the recycling bins to clean up before returning to barracks and grabbing their gear. Riley, Cesar, and I remain seated while we wait for the room to clear somewhat.

"Fuck yeah," Riley says holding out his fist. We all join fists in celebration. I'm still trying to get my head around the situation. Cesar sees me and simply shrugs.

"Rapid deployment, man."

"No shit," I say, getting up once the crowd behind me had thinned. The guys follow suit and we exchange glances before heading to the recycling bins. Filing out, we stop dead in our tracks and cringe at an all-too-familiar voice from across the hall.

"Jones, Riley, Morelez, front and center!" barks Gunnery Sergeant Handke. All three of us curse before responding.

"Moving, Sergeant!" We all run toward the NCO, taking note of his stance. It was the stance he took when we were going to be smoked. _What did we do this time?_ Lining up in front of him we immediately go to parade-rest. The veins in his face look like earthworms crawling under his apple-red skin. The narrow, bloodshot eyes focus on us as he gets in our faces and paces about.

"Does _discipline_ mean anything to you fuck-offs?" he screams, spewing mists of saliva into our eyes. "I get up this morning only to find out _someone_ in my platoon thought it would be wise-ass funny to place anti-personnel mine warning signs around the officer barracks overnight!" I turn my eyes to Riley and Cesar, looking for a reaction but see none. "_Furthermore_, these same signs were found in the parade yard! The sorry sonsabitches in the band are having to wait to practice while EOD sweeps the field for mines!" At this point Cesar couldn't take it and unsuccessfully suppressed a laugh. Handke immediately got in his face. "_What_ is so funny, you fuck-tard? Do you find it _hilarious_ you just earned you and your fuck-buddies corrective PT? Get the fuck outside and start pushing, all of you!"

"Yes, Sergeant!" With that we haul ass to our usual spot in the PT yard, wondering how long this is going to take. _Anti-personnel mine signs?_ Admittedly it was kind of funny. I just couldn't believe EOD was doing a sweep. And I couldn't figure out how Cesar had managed to hack the surveillance cameras to not pick up any of it. How Handke found out it was one of us was merely an assumption on his part. It was always us. And when one of us fucked up or jerked off on the wrong magazine, we all paid the price.

_Wouldn't be the same without this shit_, I sigh and think as I start counting push-ups in cadence.

_Rapid deployment_, I keep thinking to myself as we grab our gear and barely make it to formation before being called back into attention. Sweat is still pouring off my scalp, irritating my eyes, and I can barely carry my equipment. Handke really pulled out the stops this time. _Probably because it'll be the last time he can_, I realize. Somehow it all seems worth it. It had occurred to me some time ago that we were very fortunate to have not been discharged for our shenanigans. We had managed to never admit guilt, and they had no evidence against us. That's more or less because they didn't bother to look very hard. There is a very distinct line between crime and mischief in the Corps, and NCIS didn't find our pranks worthy of investigation.

"At ease," the cadre orders up front. I can't see him from my fourth rank. Like everyone else, I listen to his instructions.

"In approximately fifteen minutes, we will fall out in columns to the transport shuttles that will take us to Elevator 2-3. There we will board the _SSV Strata_ and depart for the Sol Relay. ETA to the Citadel is about 5 hours, so I hope you brought something to read. Once on station, you will be reassigned to NCO's already there. This is to ensure each platoon has someone in command that is familiar with the Citadel. You will then be briefed by your NCO concerning duties and rotation." With orders out of the way, the cadre pauses and clears his throat before continuing.

"You may have noticed the urgency. Well, I'll give it to you plain and simple. We don't know what to expect. The intel is sketchy at best. By the time you arrive, war may have already reached the Citadel. _If_ that's the case, you know what to do. Follow instruction. The orders I gave you are standing. However, it is our hope to take the fight to the enemy first and prevent another catastrophe on the Citadel. But in the meantime we stand guard. They're still rebuilding, and the Alliance intends to let them finish. The Citadel is a key strategic point, being the hub of all sapient civilization in the galaxy. It is with _honor_ that we humans of the Alliance are responding to the Council's request for assistance once more. Keep that in mind, Marines.

"That said, your conduct is to be exemplary, as it reflects not only the Corps, but also humanity." I hear Cesar and Riley quietly sigh. "No dicking around. Be courteous of other races and respect their rights. We're assisting _them._ I know many of you haven't even seen another sapient species before. So please, try not to stare."

It was true; most of us, in fact, hadn't seen another sapient in person. We've all seen the vids; hell, a lot of us had extranet subscriptions to _Fornax_ if for no other reason than to "study alien anatomy". The Hanar-Asari vids were somewhat disturbing in a hentai-anime kind of way.

"Any questions?" the cadre asks. I look around and count the silence before mustering the courage to raise my hand. "Yes?"

"Sir, do we know what the enemy is, Sir?" I shout in monotone. Not that anyone really cared who or what we were up against, but we had fifteen minutes, so I figure why not?

"Negative, soldier," he says and I can practically hear him shake his head. "As I said, the intel _I_ have is less than informative. All we know at present is that our assistance is requested. Any other questions?" The cadre eventually points to someone up front.

"Sir, what's our strength, sir?"

"The entire Alliance Navy and Marine Corps are being mobilized." That garnered some side-to-side glances among the platoons in the yard. "The 210th, being on alert status, is spear-heading the move. The other divisions will arrive once properly equipped. This is the real deal, marines."

There is a silence following that, like everyone is taking time to comprehend what they were just told. Excitement turns to concern as the reality of it all sets in. We were up against an enemy that, though unknown, was strong enough to warrant the mobilization of the entire Alliance fleet. And it could be waiting on us when we reach the Citadel. _What the fuck are we up against?_ I ask myself. The reapers? Hell, Cesar, Riley and I had convinced ourselves they were real when everyone who even heard the term scoffed. So why was it hard to believe now? _Because if it's true, we'll probably all die_. That thought hit me like a 50 pound sack of shit. On fire. Commander Shepard had destroyed one, but he was like a demi-god _and_ he had the help of Fifth Fleet, the _Ascension_, and all of C-Sec. All that for one goddamned reaper ship. And the rumors were that thousands were coming from deep space. Plus, the Collectors were still abducting human colonies so far as I knew.

The cadre takes note of the silence and spreading discomfort. We were all itching for a fight, but only if it was one that we could win. No point in a suicide run.

"Marines, know this," he says, sounding austere, "you are the finest fighting force in the galaxy. Remember that. This is the same Corps that fought at Shanxi and repelled the Turians. We kicked their asses like we'd been fighting them for years. Unlike the other races, humanity has a knack for adapting to the new and unknown. That's why our presence is requested at the Citadel; because they know that without us, they don't stand a chance in Hell. I don't have to tell you how proud that makes me to be a Marine."

The platoons thunder a hearty _Oo-rah_. We _are_ the best and everyone knows it. In the back of my mind, I know what the cadre said was meant to alleviate our concerns, but it still feels good. This was what we had trained for. This was what _I _had trained for over the past two years. I'm ready.

"Semper fidelis, Marines. Company! Rest!"

We all fall at rest everyone starts to talk at once while we wait for transport.

"Hell, yeah! This is awesome!" Riley is the first to comment.

"Man, I can't wait," Cesar says. "I've been waiting all my life for something like this, and now that it's here I can't stand it any longer." I laugh.

"Well, you've got about five hours to go, Ceeze," I remind him. He just smiles and bites his lower lip.

"Hey, you guys know what status our weapons are supposed to be at? If we could land in the middle of a fight, I want to be locked and loaded." Riley is leaning over, checking his M8 rifle that's strapped to his ruck.

"Yellow," I say. I had overheard that as we fell in rank. Riley sighs.

"Damn, I want this thing red and ready."

"I wouldn't worry about that," I say. "You'll get your shot soon enough."

"Do you think we'll get to see any Asari chicks? Because I got something else that's locked and loaded."

"You're sick, Riles," I muse with a grin.

"Hey, I'm not the one who has prints of Hanar-Asari love under their bunk."

"Those weren't mine!" I protest pointlessly, my face heating with embarrassment. "I swear!"

"What-ev, freak. You know you want to do the nasty with a blue chick."

"Or he wants some of those Hanny tentacles," says Cesar. By now I suppose my face is completely red.

"Oooo, that so? Well, you're in luck 'cause they come pre-lubed."

"That's disgusting, Riles. And I know you put those prints under my bunk, Ceeze."

We tighten up when we see Handke walking the line at the first rank, eyeing everyone up, looking for some poor bastard to torture. He finds one, Jules, and has him drop for push-ups and "dying cockroaches". Who knows why….

"Well, at least we can finally get rid of that," says Cesar with an air of satisfaction.

"Psht, I bet that ass follows us across the galaxy," Riley doubts with a shake of his head.

"God, I hope not," I pray. That would be the icing on a shit cake.

Ten minutes later we're called back to attention for final roll call, and then fall out in columns when the shuttles arrive. _Here we go_.


	3. Chapter 2: What Friends Are For

What Friends Are For

The space elevator was fun, but it lacked windows for a view so it got old pretty quick once the momentum died. A swift march through the air-lock and suddenly we were aboard the _SSV Strata_ without realizing it. After finding our seats and strapping in, I take a moment to study the relatively new ship in the First Fleet. It had all the modern creature-comforts: hard metal seats with no support, abrasive nylon harnesses that were too tight around the crotch, that dull gun-metal gray interior that everyone loved. The only thing I really noticed that wasn't standard was the glass flooring that allowed the viewing of some damn pipes and wires below the surface. It was a nice change from the metal grating I had seen in training ships.

The ship personnel were all busy making sure we were restrained and our gear was secured and ready for launch. A few warrant officers were walking around checking us and giving orders to the ensigns. It was slightly unnerving to see them suited up in full armor and life support. I suppose it would be like seeing a select few on a submarine wearing full diving gear while everyone else is in their navy whites. The thought of drowning was scary enough, but getting spaced absolutely freaked me out. Ever since the training sims, I had been having nightmares about it. Falling, floating, unable to breathe or swim to safety, totally fucked…. My mouth starts to get a little dry and I lick my chops.

"You all right, JJ?" Riley asks from my right.

"Yeah," I say and swallow hard. "I was just wondering why we're not all in life support for this."

"Heh…you look like you're gonna toss it," Cesar remarks at my left. "Don't worry about it, though. This is a cruiser. Not even Sovereign could take it down in one hit."

"Yeah, it'd take two," says Riley, smiling. I shake my head and brush it off. At the same time the ship shudders to life as the mass effect core powers up. The intercom whistle sounds and a VI lets everyone know we're away. _Five hours_. I check my watch and set it to elapsed time.

Time. Everyone thought space travel, particularly FTL travel would screw around with us. We'd travel into the future, they said. Well, they were only partially correct it turns out. It ended up not really making a difference planet-to-planet, because as soon as we'd travel forward in time, we'd travel back in time when the FTL kicked in. Still, it sometimes made for a social faux pas back home.

Sensing the long haul, I reach down into my pack and pull out some of my favorite reading material and flip to where I left off last.

"Oh, look at that. Already has the pad out. We that boring, JJ?" Riley teases. I look up and sigh. They always gave me shit about it.

"Whatcha got there, Corporal?" Cesar asks with a smirk while reaching up to grab the PDA. I try to swipe it back, but he pulls it away into the guy next to him, who says nothing but gives a dirty look. Cesar clears his throat and begins to read aloud so everyone can hear him. "_Khelish: A Guide to Quarian Language and Modern History, with Analysis of the Geth_. Well, well, well." He hands it back, grinning ear to ear.

"Thanks, Ceeze," I say, drolly.

"What the fuck?" Riley asks, rhetorically. I answer anyway.

"It's just something I've found interesting."

"You like the buckets or something?" Riley interrogates me.

"They're _not_ buckets, jackass" I say, losing my cool. "They've just been dealt a bad hand." I should admit my defense of the quarians was a mistake around these guys, because it only gave them something to chase. Riley reels back like I've just struck him in the chest with a ferrous slug.

"Ow. Looks like we may have hit a nerve, Ceeze," he says.

"Whatever," I say, trying to dismiss them.

"I thought you were into Hanar," Cesar asks almost honestly.

"Just shut the fuck up, both of you," I command.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Riley says then looks at Cesar. "I think we need to have an intervention." _Shit_. Cesar sits up and puts a concerned look on his face.

"JJ, you know you can't screw a quarian chick. You don't even know if they have pussies." By the end of his sentence he was slapping his knee, laughing while a few other marines were looking on, confused.

"Yeah," I agree angrily. "On top of that, they'd _die_ if they got out of their suits. Jesus, guys, just lay off."

"That's right, they live in bubbles," Riley realizes, faking disappointment. "I think I get it, Ceeze. The Corporal wants what he can't have."

"Nah, I think he just wants something that's pure and untouched," Cesar disagrees, happily, and then looks at me mischievously. "You know, JJ, it could get messy. Taking the virginity of an alien? You got cajones, man." I nearly stand up, but quickly feel the pressure of my harness.

"Okay, enough. Keep it up and I'll throw both of you dipshits out the airlock."

"All right, all right. Just let me get my coat," Cesar says and leans back against his seat. Riley has his head in his hand, laughing so hard he can't make a sound. I decide to flip back to my PDA and begin to read. It doesn't take long before I realize the whole bench across the isle is staring at me. I look up, checking rank first.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" I ask, menacingly. The row of eyes divert.

Quarians were the Gypsy analogue of the galaxy, basically. The creation of the Geth had ruined their reputation and the galaxy continued to shovel shit their way for the last 300 years. Personally I felt this was an injustice, though I could understand the reasons. The Geth had killed millions. But punishing the decedents of those who created them was both morally and ethically wrong, not to mention illogical and redundant. Whatever their ancestors had done, there was no point in taking it out on the living. After all, the Geth have been fighting the quarians longer than any other race. You would think that would be punishment enough. But no, they were still second-class citizens these days. Not even the knowledge that a quarian had been in Shepard's team that defeated Saren was enough to sway public opinion.

What was her name? _Tolly…Talc?_ Something-Zorah. Just like the fish people in Zelda. I flip to the index of my "book". _Tali!_ That was it. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. Child of the Rayya. Thumbing over the pages, I find the article concerning her involvement in the Geth attack. Apparently she was critical in the defeat of Saren, and was among those that had fought him alongside Shepard. Reading the article, I realize there isn't much there. It basically just stated she was on her Pilgrimage when Shepard had recruited her for her tech skills. I found it somewhat odd that Shepard would do that, given the nature of his mission as a Spectre.

Quarians were delicate. A single rupture to their environmental suits could kill them in a matter of minutes. It made me glad to be human, honestly. Even so, I couldn't deny there was a lure, a twisted infatuation that everyone seemed to have about quarians. Well, every guy, anyway. Physically they were outwardly very similar to humans, and their females did exhibit traits desired by human males of human females. Despite the three fingered hands and odd bird-like feet, quarian females were h-a-w-t- hot, even when their faces were a mystery.

No human had ever seen a quarian's face. No one knew if they had hair, scales, feathers, or some crossover on their heads. It was reasonable to assume that their bodies were bare, given the snugness of their suits. But the quarians kept all that information to themselves for security reasons. I had heard a rumor going around that Commander Shepard and this Tali chick were an item, but no one knew if anything had happened between them. I seriously doubted it. It was simply too risky. So it was probably still true that no humans had seen a quarian face. It was kind of sad.

Shrugging and getting my mind back on topic, I tab back over to my vocabulary section. Vocab was the hardest part of learning a language. Grammar came easy for me, as it all was a set pattern that repeated. But every word was a different ensemble of sounds, and every one required memorization. There was no one to grade me, but I strongly considered myself a novice at this point.

Foreign language requirements were practically nonexistent these days, what with our translators. However, we all knew the devices could fail, so it was strongly encouraged by our platoon sergeants to pick up a different, non-Earth language. Most of the guys chose Asari for obvious reasons. There were a few assholes who thought they'd learn Krogan, but it turned out they didn't have the vocal cords for that. Same went for the Drell language. And Hanar, well…they didn't really make sounds amongst themselves, nor did the Elcor. So we were left with Asari, Turian, Volus, and Quarian languages to choose from. I was the only one to choose Khellish in our company, as far as I knew.

I tap a word to listen to its pronunciation in my earpiece. _Vro-mal-ghin. _To dance. I say it out loud a few times to get the annunciation right. _Vromalghin. Khan-ishvu vromalghin?_ I practice the phrase a few times before the inevitable happens.

"Did you just ask me to help you rub one out?" Cesar exclaims over the entire platoon. I sigh. This was going to be a long trip.


	4. Chapter 3: Invasion

Invasion

I had to punch Cesar to wake him up. The VI had just announced a 10 minute ETA to the relay at Arcturus. Once there, we'd worm our way to the Citadel in less than a second. We were knocking on the door. Behind that door possibly lay the largest battle in the history of the galaxy.

My hands were sweating through my gloves. I could hear my pulse over the hum of the eezo core. I look around and see many pale faces; we were all green save a few of the sergeants and officers on board. No one says a word now. All of us are thinking about what we might be facing in a matter of minutes. We hadn't received any word regarding the status of the Citadel. Just when I was beginning to wonder, I hear the chime of the intercom.

"Attention, this is Captain O'Hare." The voice is rough, scratchy, with a touch of Irish accent. "FTL communications with the Citadel indicate negative contact with invasion force at the moment. Begin offload procedure, check and ready weapons, marines. O'Hare, out."

A warrant officer gives the signal to detach harnesses and form up. Buckles click in unison and suddenly hundreds of marines can be heard securing and checking their equipment. I sling my M8 and do a quick function and ammo check after clipping on my assault pack. Cesar and Riley mimic the same along with everyone else. Though we're somewhat relieved from the Captain's remarks regarding the Citadel's status, FTL travel makes sudden attacks a real possibility. We were to go in heavy, regardless the situation. This knowledge keeps the bay quiet as we stand in line.

A red light appears on the ceiling. It's the jump light. We all grab our respective jump lines and attach them to our belts via karabiner. Like the Airborne of WWII, we're all attached to a cord like we're about to parachute into combat. However, this time it's to keep us from bouncing all over the place if attacked. Both rows along our corridor are watching the light anxiously. Green meant offload. Sweat begins to drip from my Alpha-5 ballistic helmet. This felt nothing like training.

I can hear a shift in the drive core as we approach the relay. The pitch begins to rise and the ship begins to shake and rumble. I feel the hair on my arms begin to tingle. Pressure builds in my ears, forcing me to open my mouth. I see other marines doing the same, while others were smart enough to toss in some gum. It's our first jump for many of us. The pitch begins to crescendo.

"This is it," whispers Riley. As if on cue, the ship vibrates as if we're all sitting on the core itself, then goes dead still while a sharp moan like that of a whale pierces the ship. In less than two heartbeats it's over. There's an eerie silence that overcomes the ship. Marines are looking around wide-eyed, clenching their teeth and rifles with equal force. Seconds pass and the tension rises.

"Scopes are negative," states a voice on the intercom. "All clear to approach. Citadel Control has our signature." A collective sigh of relief flows down the corridor. At least we weren't oscar mic to a war zone. We marines were useless in a friendly ship. I turn around and raise my eyebrows at Riley.

"Sounds like we'll get a piss break after all," I say.

"Fuckin' A," he nods.

"Looks like some of us already had one," Cesar states ahead of me. I smirk at the thought of marines pissing themselves so quickly.

"A bird shits right before it flies," I remind him.

"True enough, man."

The drive core begins to power down. We must be docking. Not thirty seconds after the hum turns to an idle, the red light turns green.

"Combat personnel begin offload procedure," commands the VI. We begin to file down the corridor to the airlock. As I reach the end of the line, I quickly unclip and follow Cesar, Riley in tow. We're all lemmings at this point, going wherever the guy in front goes. The two lines converge at the airlock, and stepping through the gate I see the Citadel for the first time of my brief life.

"Whoa," I breathe before anxiously tonguing the back of my teeth. I instantly see the massive arms following the circular shape of the station. I almost stop in my tracks when I realize the cobweb of lights along each arm's interior represent a city larger than any city on Earth. I note that our dock is actually on one of the arms, as well. _Holy shit_, I think to myself. It's a surreal sight through the purple fog of the nebula, leaving me with a slight sensation of misplaced vertigo while I watch ships sail between docks like fireflies in the night sky.

"This…this is incredible," Riley injects into the moment, eyes wild like a kid's on Christmas. Not one of us was prepared for what we were seeing.

"Beats Littlecreek," Cesar states, nonchalantly. Maybe I was wrong.

As we step out onto the dock, I quickly scan my immediate surroundings. It's an Alliance military dock, given away by the lack of civilians and the numerous cruisers and frigates anchored alongside us. Lines of soldiers numbering in the hundreds can be seen exiting landing craft for miles in either direction. _I'm sure the locals are going to love this_, I muse. C-Sec will be thrilled. Logic would indicate our invasion would be great for the local economy, but it still made me wonder what we were going to be doing while we wait. The "hurry up and wait" mentality of the military was always my chief aggravation, like so many others'. You can't even read a magazine while you take a shit, even if you've got hours to kill. Handke said so.

As we make our way across the stone-like metal floor of the dock we see lighted indicators telling us processing is ahead and that we're to remain in single-file formation until cleared to enter. It was great that we weren't required to think; I didn't know what I'd do if I had to use the other nine percent of my brain power. Probably invent something. Our single-file line begins to slow as those ahead begin verification, giving the three of us time to ogle the scenery and make less-than-witty comments.

"Wonder how many bars they got on this station," says Cesar, taking in the sky. I can see the hamster wheel spinning.

"I can think of two ways to find out," Riley says, giving a mischievous smile.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, we could just ask, but that'd be lame," the smile is replaced by a curious frown.

"And the other?" I ask, intrigued.

"We hit them one by one," he says the smile returning with an even greater force.

"Hell yeah!" Cesar yells and delivers a picture-perfect high five to Riley before giving me an enthusiastic facsimile down low.

"Soon as we're able, let's hit that shit," I say. I was looking forward to visiting the bars and clubs of the Citadel. The grapevine had already told us what we were missing while back on Earth. It had been nearly a century since they lowered the drinking age to 18 back in Sol, so we were already liquor veterans. It didn't occur to me that we may never get that chance thanks to Brass and the Reapers, but it was still okay to make a wish now and then, right?

"Move your asses, marines!" shouts a voice up front and we snap our attention forward as we take a few steps up to fill the gap we had created. The voice's commanding authority told me we had an officer on deck. I sigh. Time to act like we were earning our pay.

Two MP's ahead of us are holding identity scanners, giving instructions, while a marine captain stares us down at their flank. It was nice to be noticed occasionally.

"Hand on the scanner," orders the female MP and, removing a glove, I comply with a welcoming smile. Verifying, she takes a look at me and frowns. She nods her head down the line. "Get out of here, Jones."

"Yes ma'am," I say, nursing my bruised ego. I knew about the non-fraternization policy the Alliance stuck to, but it was fun to test the boundaries once in a while.

"I can't believe you of all people just did that," Riley says when he catches up with me and Cesar.

"Did what?" I ask, mocking ignorance. He leaves it be and we begin our search for our platoon formation.

The dock quickly becomes an open concert hall of sorts as we follow the flow of our fellow jarheads. As expected, we didn't have to think. A large glowing, yellow sign was posted halfway down the hall: 210-1B-123 D-3. Below it stood a sergeant impatiently checking his omni-tool. I was immediately praying this guy wouldn't be a dick like Handke. Stepping up into formation and relieving my pack I verify his rank. It's another gunnery sergeant. I read the name. Kanter.

Kanter was markedly tall for a marine. Wearing his VCU and patrol cap, it was difficult to discern any other unique features, though. The Corps tried its best to make us all look the same. However, a few things were clear. Kanter had that look about him, like he'd been there and done that, even while he was fiddling with his omni-whatzit. His angular nose was slightly crooked from a break, and a deep scar lined his otherwise run-of-the-mill jaw. But to top it off, he looked as young as us. Most gunnies were nearly twice our age, but this guy looked like he might get printed at a bar. And yet, he could probably kick my ass and sleep with my mother. At the same time. I immediately respected this man. Deactivating his omni-tool, he looks up to see the platoon in ranks. He finds his place in front of us and does something I've never seen before. He smiles, but it's not a happy smile. More like a "this is going to be fun" smile you give before torturing a cat with scotch tape. Not that we tortured cats….

"Third platoon! Ah-ten-hun!" he shouts in a voice that defies his looks. We all snap our left heel to our right and stand straighter than a relay trajectory, our rifles on our left. Kanter nods slowly, keeping his smile. "Welcome to the Del, marines. I trust you all had a pleasant flight?"

"Oo-rah!" we yell. It wasn't too bad. Other than it being a nightmare.

"Good to hear. My name is Gunnery Sergeant Kanter. I will be your platoon sergeant until you either die in combat or – God forbid – you are reassigned. Either way, you are now my property."

_Oh Hell…._

"As such, I will respect you so much as you respect me. I take care of my own, but I'm not afraid put a boot so far up your ass you can spit-shine it by swallowing. Fuck up real bad, and I'll personally throw you in a Krogan prison where I guarantee you you'll be ass-raped so hard you'll be spitting up blood for weeks. Is that a deal, marines?" Another _oo-rah_ seals it. This guy was serious, but he wasn't a prick.

"Good," he says and begins to pace in front of us, sizing up his combat strength. He stops and stares at me for a second. I have to force my stomach back down with a gulp. "Corporal Jones," he says, pointing a finger at me casually. I stiffen up my stance in a silent acknowledgement. "Fall out and take control of this formation. I'm designating you platoon leader henceforth until you fail."

_Shit…._

"Yes, sergeant, moving, sergeant!" I bellow and fall out of formation. Instinctively moving along the appropriate route to Sergeant Kanter, I take my place behind him as he turns away from the redressed formation. Facing one another, I snap back to attention and salute. He returns the salute and we both order arms before he tactfully steps aside. I step forward to his original position and look upon third platoon. Cesar and Riley are doing their best not to make faces, thankfully. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kanter off to my right, standing casually with arms crossed. _Well this is new_, I think to myself.

"This is now your platoon, Corporal," he says. "They're your responsibility. _If _they fuck up – and they will – you're to blame. Keep that in mind. As platoon leader, you will be responsible for their actions, and they will be subject to yours. You will answer to me, and they will answer to you. Understand?"

"Yes, sergeant!" I automatically respond despite fidgeting in my boots. I didn't want this responsibility. _Damn it!_ Kanter looks at my newly-dubbed minions.

"Understand, marines?"

"Yes, sergeant!" comes the thunderous response.

"Very good. Jones, have these men fall out and rendezvous at platoon barracks ASAP. I'll brief everyone once you're settled in. You've got 90 seconds." If this were an anime, a bead of sweat would have appeared over my head. _Better get to it, then_.

"Third platoon!" I shout. "Upon the order to fall out, secure your gear and fall out to platoon barracks. We've got one minute! Fall out!"

Like lightning forty marines, including myself, fall out and somehow orderly grab their gear and begin jogging along the route marked "Barracks". Looking back, I see that we're the only ones who are falling out in the entire regiment. Racing ahead I begin navigating the platoon towards our goal. A sign indicates we're passing Alpha company barracks fifteen seconds later. Peering ahead, I see the big D and arrow at what looked to be an unbelievable half-mile away. _Shit! Shit! SHIT!_

"Let's move, marines!" I turn and shout behind me. My jog becomes a sprint, and I quickly find Cesar and Riley at my side. The sound of 80 boots clonking on metal quickly becomes an erratic war drum.

"Hell of a way to start our vacation, eh, JJ?" Riley says between labored breaths. Our gear made it feel like we were sprinting through quicksand. I have to ignore him for now. I may be able to run a 4:30 mile, but this was impossible. I force myself forward, and we're passing Charlie company barracks. By the time we reach Delta and make the turn I'm sure 90 seconds has already passed.

Sliding to a stop at the security door labeled "3rd Platoon" I swipe my hand over the holo panel to activate the door. Stepping to the side and keeping a foot over the motion sensor to hold the door I frantically motion everyone inside, shouting "move" in rapid succession. Once everyone is in, I run inside only to facepalm at what I see. Marines are scattered everywhere trying to find their appropriate bunks. I see Riley checking the names labeled on the bunks.

"They're in alphabetical order, people!" he barks, angrily. "Surely you know how to sing your ABC's!" He quickly spots his bunk and gear trunk, securing his pack and rifle before standing at attention in front of the bunk bed on the right side of the barrack.

"Listen to the man," I concur. "Come on, people! Double time!" _This is like herding cats!_

Finding my spot, I fling my gear into the trunk and watch as the chaos slowly becomes order. When everyone finally calms down and is at their bunks at attention, I do the same. Only labored breaths and the occasional cough can be heard now. We stand there, silently counting the seconds and catching our breath. Two hundred and thirty-two seconds later Sergeant Kanter walks in. Now the only sound is his boots as they squeak on the polished metal flooring.

Hands crossed at the small of his back, he quietly walks down the isle of bunks, twenty on each side, and two to a bunk. My pulse is throbbing in my ears. At this point I'm unsure if it's because of the run or the stress of my new responsibility. His eyes hover over the platoon, looking us all up and down. He rounds the room in agonizingly slow fashion, almost like he's window shopping at a strip mall back on Earth. Finally he finds himself back at the security door. I watch from the corner of my eyes as he stands there for a few seconds. I'm shocked when he pulls out a cigarette and lights it just below the no smoking sign above the door.

Drawing on the cigarette, he pauses for a moment, as if to consider something, and then nods to himself.

"Front leaning position," he says just above the ringing in my ears. _God damn it…._

We all drop to the floor, ready to do push-ups. No one has the guts to piss and moan about it, thankfully.

"Down," he orders, quietly. We all drop, keeping our chests just above the ground. Kanter leans up against the wall and puffs on his cigarette, acting as though he's on break. _Okay, maybe I was wrong about this guy not being an ass_, I think to myself. Thirty seconds later, I'm beginning to feel the strain. I can see some of the guys begin to shake.

"Congratulations, 3rd platoon. You've already begun to disappoint me," he says, blowing the smoke out slowly as he spoke. "Corporal Jones, can you tell me why your platoon disappointed me?" I take a deep breath before answering.

"Sergeant, we were too slow, sergeant!" I grunt.

"Fantastic, I appointed someone platoon leader that knows when his men aren't following orders. I gave you _90_ seconds; Corporal Jones gave you 60 to motivate your asses and yet you still fail. How many _more_ seconds did it take you pieces of shit to make it here?" Unsure if he was asking me, I decide to formulate and answer just in case.

"An additional 90 seconds, sergeant?" I offer.

"I don't know, Jones. Were you keeping time?"

"Uh, negative, sergeant." My arms are about to give on me.

"And why not?" _Fuck_…. I quickly came up with an answer and said it as sardonically as I could, though I really didn't mean to.

"Because I was busy accomplishing the objective, sergeant?" One of the guys across from me gave in to gravity, but quickly recovered.

"And yet you didn't accomplish that objective, Corporal," Kanter says, coolly. "I gave you 90 seconds and you took 180. You said so yourself." This shit was old. I had been through basic already; I didn't need to go through it again.

"You gave us an impossible objective, sergeant," I muttered. _Fuck._ Since when did I mouth the NCO's?

"What was that, Corporal?" Sighing, I reiterate my statement, knowing he heard it just fine.

"The objective was impossible, sergeant." The asshole just laughs before putting his cigarette out on the ladium wall.

"Exactly. On your feet, marines," he says. _What?_ We all exhale loudly and jump to our feet. "Rest, people. No need for formalities now. You're all dead, after all."

We stand there at rest, looking at one another, confused and bewildered. I see Riley across the isle and shoot him a pleading look. All he can do is offer the furled eyebrows of desperation.

Kanter gets up from the wall and begins to walk down the isle methodically.

"I gave you an impossible objective and you didn't even know it until you were in the thick of it. I hate to bring back bad memories of boot camp, but if there's one thing you need to know it's that there will always be impossible objectives. What I wanted to show you here today is your own willingness to complete the objective in the face of failure. I was pleased at what I witnessed. Furthermore, it was both comforting and amusing to hear Corporal Jones make the objective even harder, though I'm sure he would have reconsidered had he known what you were getting into." The room of marines chuckles at the notion, and even I find the truth somewhat entertaining despite my embarrassment. But the smile on Kanter's face quickly disappears, silencing the room. "Impossible objectives. Impossible odds. Get used to it. When the time comes, I expect you all to do as you did today." The gunnery sergeant takes a seat on Riley's gear trunk before continuing.

"On your pads you will find your standard Alliance issue omni-tools. In your military extranet account you will each have a message. In that message are your mission orders, chain of command, emergency contact information, pay and etcetera. You may use the omni-tools as you wish however there are restrictions. Access to inappropriate material is prohibited, so don't even attempt to log into _Fornax_." Most of us laugh the comment off, but I swear I hear someone curse. Getting more serious, Kanter continues.

"Your mission orders are simple. We're here for the foreseeable future. The Citadel has been labeled a priority level one target since the geth attack, and we're to defend it. Simple." He gestures with a shrug of his shoulders. "So don't count on going home anytime soon. We're currently on threat level red: imminent attack expected. Unfortunately that means very few breaks. I'm working on a rotation of four individuals a day starting in two weeks should we find ourselves alive that long. I want to keep this platoon at 90 percent at all times. Delta Company has been given the specific task of patrolling the wards. We're not here to pick up C-Sec's slack, but we're to keep track of the local population's disposition and 'instill a sense of security'." Kanter emphasizes his quote with his fingers, much to our enjoyment. Then he sighs. "The politicians don't want us interfering with any civilian issues. If we see potential trouble we're to report directly to C-Sec immediately. Any questions?"

I raise my hand.

"Corporal?" I stand at ease to address the sergeant.

"What is the enemy, sergeant? It sounds like we're simply going to be underprivileged mall cops until the shit hits the fan." Kanter shakes his head.

"I don't know what the enemy is, Jones. I'm not sure anyone knows for sure. But I'm under the impression from Company Commander Holson that we've got intel from Commander Shepard indicating an imminent attack consisting of a large alien force. What those aliens are, I'm not sure. Certainly none of the known species. Furthermore, it sounds like this is directly connected to the Battle of the Citadel two years ago. I was there, and if that's true, we're in for one hell of a fight."

_The Reapers _are_ coming_, I think to myself. This isn't good.

"So far as 'underprivileged mall cops' goes…you're unfortunately right. I don't like it either, but orders are orders. We excel in our duties above all else. So we'll be the best damned underprivileged mall cops the galaxy has ever seen."

"Oo-rah, Sergeant," I agree and acknowledge his answer. Kanter waits expectantly for another question, but receives no such pleasure. Standing up, he claps his hands together like he's about to knead pizza dough.

"All right. I'm sure you guys need to take a piss so you've got fifteen mics to hit the latrine before chow. Today's menu: meals, ready to eat. My favorite. Be ready at…" He checks his clock on his omni-tool. "1600 standard galactic time. Dismissed."

And like that, we all zerg the latrine in the back of the barracks.


	5. Chapter 4: A Rock and a Hard Place

A/N: I wanted to say thanks to all those that reviewed and have chosen to follow this story. I really didn't expect much interest to arise over it, and I was merely fooling around when I chose to publish. I kind of had that "why not" mentality going into it. But now I feel like I made a good decision to publish it. I've tried to get the following three chapters published yesterday, but I neither had the time nor the will to do it. There was simply too much to edit. And then there's the distractions. I'm about to embark on a journey of sorts, one that's sure to change me. I leave Tuesday, the 27th, and will be gone for at least 19 weeks. I hate it that I won't be able to work on this story during that time, but it's something I have to do. I made that commitment long before even considering a ME fanfic, or even playing the games. And, as gimmicky as it sounds, I need to do this for myself. I need to know my limits, and I will find them.

I have this story outlined so I won't forget it while I'm away. I do intend on picking it back up when I return. If ME3 is out, I'll likely just ignore its plot and take it from here.

Again, thank you for reading. I hate to disappoint those hoping for more, but there is nothing I can do to change this.

- P4

A Rock and a Hard Place

Well into week two it was beginning to feel a lot like Little Creek. Except much cooler. The edginess we had coming in had long since worn away, and everyone was beginning to come to terms with a long-haul deployment. The Reapers might be coming, but they weren't in any hurry. Most of the guys were under the impression it was another Collector or Geth attack, but reports were that human abductions had halted a couple of months ago and not a single Collector drone had been seen since Horizon. The Geth had also suddenly disappeared; there weren't even small outposts for the Navy to mop up any more. So there was no question in my mind it was the Reapers we were waiting on.

The past week we had been training on how to use our new Tango X-ray 1.3 omni-tools, which I picked up on quickly thanks to Cesar's savant electronic skills. They were pretty handy. Ours attached to our wrists like old-school watchbands. Kanter instructed us on the basic uses of the tool, which reminded me of a personal computer, and also the more elaborate, insidious programs. Hacking, scanning, and even Overload were covered. These were definitely a step up from our training tools in basic. Of course, Cesar had immediately begun reprogramming his to yield more potent results. He had even shown the sergeant some neat tricks, which were then propagated to the rest of the platoon.

This week, in preparation to beginning patrols, we were training in an urban combat simulator. It was more difficult than the standard shoot-everything sim because now we had civvies to watch out for. Kanter had made it harder by making us write fake letters of apology to the families of each sim civvy we killed. It had been a while since I had written to Mr. and Mrs. Slime about the unfortunate accident involving their daughter and my M8 rifle. Enemies ranged from Geth to Batarians to Krogans. At first we were all evaluated individually, but as we advanced we were later placed in convenient three-man squads. The squads rotated out until we were eventually given a choice of squad members. So of course I took the A team. If we performed well together, Kanter said he would make it official on the roster for patrol. We had done well so far, but each exercise became exponentially more difficult. It led up to a final fight of attrition: we were to hold a position for ten minutes or take out the enemy. Our performance as a team would be evaluated on our ability to survive above all else. It was all on the line….

"Contact, 2 o'clock, high on the balcony, 200 meters," I calmly say and engage the enemy with my M8. We were in the Presidium, taking down a seemingly endless Geth strike force.

"I got him," says Riley, swapping out his M8 for his new best friend, the M-92 Mantis. Half a second later, the simulated report of a high caliber round can be heard within the dome. "He's down."

A dropship crashes in through the fake sky and hovers above before launching more geth into the fight.

"Three platforms, 3 meter spread front, 50 meters," I say, my voice beginning to show distress. This had to be the hundredth geth I'd seen. As soon as you took one down, two replaced it. _How many are left?_

"Prime, right side, 30 meters!" suddenly shouts Cesar. _Fuck!_ I simultaneously turn to face the new opponent and take cover against the barriers within the sim dome. I hear the whirring of a minigun and am suddenly deafened by a chainsaw burst of fire. _Since when did the Geth get miniguns?_

"Cover!" I yell to my team. I can hear the warning beep of my shield generator as it takes some hits. _Hold, baby, hold!_

"We gotta take down its shields!" Cesar exclaims.

"Scanners are picking up nine more units headed this way at our ten o'clock! It's getting tight in here, guys!" Riley informs us. _Shit!_ We were being overrun. I had to think quickly.

"Cesar! Think you can hack that Prime if we take its shields down?"

"Fuckin' A, JJ! But that thing's got shields like a cruiser!" I look to my other team member.

"Riles, set your omni-tool for Overload and target the Prime! On my command, set it off and give that bitch a three second burst with your M8!"

"Got it, JJ," he confirms, frantically tapping out a command on his display. I glance down and quickly ready my own.

"Ceeze, when that fucker's shields drop, hack the son of a bitch and use it to take out some of these bastards ahead of us!"

"Copy that!"

"Okay…" I hold up my hand in a fist to hold position. The minigun whirs again and I can hear the Prime's feet slowly chinking on the metal walkway toward our position not ten meters out. I hunker down lower, but my shield's bubble makes it impossible to avoid all the incoming rounds. The chainsaw buzzes, and I watch my omni-tool's shield readout. 77%...73%...65%... I begin to feel the onset of panic. It feels like my heart is trying to beat out of my chest. At 58% the minigun begins to cook off.

"Now!"

Riley and I both press "execute" and a large ball of light appears over top of the barriers, informing us of success. Rising up, we both draw our M8's onto target and fire a continual burst of simulated heated metal toward the Prime. _One…Two…Three!_ I see the blue flicker of the Prime's shields give way as the last round impacts. Dropping back down, I point at Cesar. He already has his omni-tool ready and begins the hack. I look down and notice my shields are at 17%. _I hope this works_…

The Prime slowly maneuvers around the barrier, and we are all greeted with a blue-white bulb as the minigun begins to spin up at point blank range. I know it's just a sim, but I can't help but close my eyes in defeat. _Fuck_.

"Got it!" cries out Cesar. I open my eyes and see the Prime's minigun begin to turn away toward the other twelve geth units just as it opens fire.

"Hell, yeah, Ceeze!" hoots Riley. I watch Cesar begin navigating the Prime on his display, selecting targets like a kid in a candy shop. The Prime offers enough distraction to allow our shields to regenerate. With new fire in our veins, Riley and I begin picking off geth platforms one-by-one while the Prime holds their attention and destroys a few of its own. In the end, all are destroyed save the hacked Prime. It now stands there in the middle of the combat zone, waiting for instruction.

"Field is clear," Riley informs everyone.

"How much time on the hack?" I ask, worried about taking the thing down before it wakes up.

"Twenty-eight seconds," Cesar states. Riley and I replace our thermal clips and draw a bead on the monster to finish it off when we are interrupted.

"Hey guys, watch this," Cesar says with a mischievous grin. _Oh God…_. Riley and I watch, frowning, as the Prime begins doing a poor rendition of Michael Jackson's _Thriller_ dance, with the accompanying music blaring from our radios. As it concludes its short dance, it turns the minigun on its own optic and it crashes to the ground, lifeless.

"Good one, Ceeze," I say while rolling my eyes, despite being impressed. Riley helps Cesar from the floor as the sim dome goes blank and reality reappears.

"Hey, _Thriller_ is a classic, man. A classic," quips Cesar before straightening his armor up. We secure our sim weapons as the dome begins to open.

"Good work, gentlemen," says Kanter as we step from the simulator. He's sitting with one of the techies at our sim unit's monitoring board. "Results are compiling right now. Have a seat." He gestures to a few folding chairs haphazardly strewn about the room. We each grab one and plant ourselves near the board.

"Hell of a simulation, Sergeant," I say with a hint of smugness. I knew we had kicked ass, it was just a matter of how hard we did it. "Since when did Primes have miniguns?"

"Techs got a little too much freedom with the programming."

"I see. What about the environment?"

"Recreation of the Battle of the Citadel," Kanter says. He pauses, and lets out a drawn-out sigh. "Lost a few friends in that fight." My smugness disappears and I sit back in my chair. I don't dare ask questions. I already know the answers. Kanter, noticing my milieu, takes the topic elsewhere. "How the Hell did you keep that Prime hacked so long, Morelez?" Cesar looks up and shrugs.

"Pretty simple, Sergeant. Geth utilize a redundant archive system to restore a platform's runtimes once hacked. You can lengthen control of the hack by mimicking the archive's attempts to restart by creating a redundant backup save. Each attempt at restart is interrupted by an additional, new file that takes the place of the restart command. Eventually you run out of new files, though, and the platform regains control. AI are tricky like that." We're all silent as Kanter just looks at Cesar like he turned purple.

"You don't say…."

"Results are in, Sergeant," says the techie. A chime from our omni-tools indicates a new message. Opening mine, I see both my personal results and the team results.

CPL J. A. JONES

SIMULATION: _3

TOTAL TIME ELAPSED: 9:33

STATUS: UNHARMED

JUDGEMENT: EXCELLENT

CVN CASUALTIES: 0

ACCURACY: LETHAL

ROUNDS FIRED: 583

HIT %: 88

DEFENSE: GOOD

SHIELD PENETRATIONS: 0

FIRE TEAM: CPL J. A. JONES, LCP E. W. RILEY, LCP C. F. MORELEZ

SIMULATION: _3

TOTAL TIME ELAPSED: 9:33

STATUS: 100% STRENGTH

KIA: 0

CASUALTIES: 0

JUDGEMENT: EXCELLENT

CVN CASUALTIES: 0

ACCURACY: LETHAL

ROUNDS FIRED: 1298

HIT %: 85

DEFENSE: GOOD

SHIELD PENETRATIONS: 0

"Not bad," I say. _I need to work on my accuracy_. Then again, I had to work within the limits of the overly-produced M8 assault rifle. But excuses are excuses and nothing more. The good thing: no KIA's. Not even one damn shield drop, though the end had me a bit frightened. This could only be considered a success.

"What the Hell?" Riley nearly shouts. "'Hit %: 98'? When did I miss? I want to see the replay."

"Wait a minute," says the techie, squinting at the screen. "That can't be right. Morelez, check your results. You can't have negative one shield penetrations. And…what the –? _'Status: Sexy'?_" Everyone glares at Cesar, suspicious. Well, I don't. Neither does Riley. 'Cause we already know how that happened. The techie turns to Kanter, begging for explanation. Kanter just stares at the screen, then at Cesar while running a tongue across his teeth in thought.

"Care to explain yourself, Morelez?" Cesar falls down in his seat and looks around all shifty-like.

"AI…can be tricky, Sergeant?" is all he can offer.

"And a hit percent of 69? Really?"

"That one's real, Sergeant! I swear."

"Sergeant Kanter, we can't use this data now," says the techie. "It's all suspect." _God damn it, Ceeze_. We endure ten minutes of that shit only to have the results thrown away because Cesar thought he'd be a smartass? I slump back in my seat and throw hate his way with my eyes.

"I wouldn't say that, Conner," Kanter says. The hate is replaced by intrigue. "I watched them. Seems to me like they did a fine job, despite their _immaturity_." His emphasis corresponds with another glower at Cesar. "Make it official."

"But Sergeant, if we –" Kanter slams a fist on the techie's desk, making us all jump.

"If we _what_, Conner? Break the rules for a simulation that doesn't mean shit? These sims, for all their realism, can't make you bleed. They can't tear your friend's body in half with an M-76, or execute the wounded. These sims are a fucking joke when it comes to real war, real blood, real loss." Kanter pauses, as if to make a point. His face is torn between anger and desperation, a look that can only be acquired through combat. He takes a breath to speak. "_Make it official_."

Conner sits there, unable to move for a moment while he processes this new information. Slowly he turns to the board and quietly hits a key, defeated. Cesar would, henceforth, officially be recognized by the Alliance database…as sexy.

"Permission to speak freely, Sergeant." I make the request, unsure of what will come of it. Kanter draws on his cigarette, staring into…well, space. We're out on the dock, watching the new arrivals show up to begin processing. Technically it's lights out, but the Citadel never really got dark. And I was good for another thirty minutes anyway, being "platoon leader" and all. I had the special privilege of this extra time so I could do more work. I had gone out to grab a few more toiletries for the latrine from the quartermaster's office when I noticed Kanter. It had been a couple of days since the simulator, and we were closing in on the end of week two. Next week we begin patrols. Kanter had placed me with what had been dubbed Team Sexy by the rest of the platoon when word got around. I didn't mind the name.

"Granted," he finally says. I take a deep breath and formulate my thoughts.

"Sergeant…what happened? At the simulator, I mean. We appreciate your vote of confidence, but…."

"Can it, Jones," he says, sternly. He takes another hit of his cigarette.

"Consider it canned, Sergeant," I say, without hesitation. I was ready for that. Kanter just keeps looking into the black expanse of the universe, like he's waiting for someone. I make to leave, unsure how to properly end the discussion that never began. I curse myself for even asking, but I feel like there was something I needed to know, something that would otherwise be my end if I didn't. _Guess your curiosity can't always be sated._

"Impossible objectives," he says in an almost inaudible whisper when I'm ten feet away. I turn.

"Sergeant?" Kanter looks at me and for the first time I see an NCO that's human. Sorrow grips his expression, but it's contained, like he's accepted it as a part of who he is.

"Remember that, Jones," he says. "Rock and a hard place? Always choose the rock, it's at least guaranteed to provide you some cover."

"I'm not sure I understand, Sergeant," I say. I can't see where this is coming from.

"At some point we all have to make the tough decisions, Jones. The kind that damn you no matter what you do. In those cases it's always better to be damned if you do, because that's living. To suffer the same fate because you didn't act is failure. _Always_ do. It's better that way. Keeps you…grounded, gives you purpose. You're going to lose at some point, Corporal. Everyone loses sometime. And there will be consequences you'll have to deal with the rest of your life." Looking down, he shakes his head. "A simulator can't do that. It can't make you lose the way reality can. Understand?"

Standing there we simply stare at one another a moment. A thousand thoughts race through me, but only one sticks. I slowly nod.

"I believe I do, Sergeant. I believe I do." Kanter turns to watch the stars once again. I look with him for a moment and I truly understand. _They're out there_.

A/N: I know. Cesar is awesome. But in all honesty I've been struggling with trying to justify his abilities. He's a better hacker than Tali or Legion, at least in gameplay. Though that doesn't seem quite right at the moment, I do intend on clarifying the limits of what he can do, as well as show he is not, in fact, better than either the original ME characters. He just doesn't limit himself with things like maturity.

You might have noticed there's quite a bit of history involving Kanter. It will be vague at best. Sorry.


	6. Chapter 5: Making the Rounds

Making the Rounds

Zakera Ward. Honestly it reminded me of Earth. Between the annoying advertisements that called you out by name and the slum trash that littered every walkway and corner, it felt a lot like home. The aura of distrust and hate-filled desperation that emanated from the streets really drove that point. But it sure didn't _look_ like home. We see a lot of alien faces on our patrol, mostly asari and turians. None of them are overly friendly, especially the turian assholes. They still despised us for kicking the shit out them a couple decades ago. It made it even worse when we were in full combat gear. I suppose it was simply a reminder that they weren't the galaxy's premier military force. Formidable, yes, but certainly paralleled. When we caught one staring us down, we would just shoot a friendly smile their way to make that clear. The Council had agreed to separate human and turian forces to keep incidents to a minimum. It was about the smartest thing the Council had done to date according to Kanter. So Zakera was _our_ ward.

It helped that the local C-Sec captain was a human. He was doing well at keeping his security forces from interfering with our patrols. They didn't even seem to acknowledge our existence. It was hard enough drawing the attention of all the citizens. Then again, I couldn't blame them for staring. The Citadel had long since made it illegal to carry weapons. Seeing three heavily armed humans casually walking the streets probably made them nervous. Our presence alone reduced violent crime in the ward, much to the delight of the real cops. It was reassuring to know that even though not everyone respected the law, _everyone _respected the gun. It made me smile.

And yet, despite this, everyone knew we couldn't intervene. I guess all the aliens assumed humans were loose canons, though. We did have a reputation of making quick (or reckless, depending on who was saying it) decisions that resulted in major shifts in political power. Non-humans hated it that we had become a council race so quickly. But you know what? Fuck 'em. It's not our fault they were too slow to react. Who showed up to save their asses two years ago? That's right, us. Humans. Fifth Fleet. They were all blind to the irony that, if not for us, they wouldn't even have the opportunity to make snide remarks about our progress and the Council's favoritism.

And as I said, violent crime was down. No limp-dicked miscreant was going to mug anyone with armed soldiers walking around. But non-violent crime, the type that barely constituted as a crime at all, remained the daily routine in Zakera. Racism, mostly. The small injustices of sentience, or knowing others are different from you and despising them because of it. I chocked it up to fear. It was just like what humanity had gone through, and still goes through. If someone looks different from you, they must be dangerous or inferior. No one could accept that another species might be just as intelligent as their own – or worse, _more_ intelligent. A lot of that was directed at humanity, and because of that, humanity didn't trust aliens. _I_ didn't trust them. It was obvious to me that we weren't the only species to exhibit reckless behavior after what happened at the 314. However, I didn't hate them, or think of them as inferior. They were just like us, but they refused to see it. I didn't trust a lot of humans, either.

And all we could do is witness that shit. My grip on my rifle tightened every time I saw it. We had already tried getting C-Sec involved, but they refused, saying it was either outside their duties or justified. _Justified_. Like when a store posted signs saying no quarians, or no vol-clan, no hanar, no elcor, no humans. Whatever. C-Sec ensured us that, although it was well within the rights of the shop owners to post such signs, they could not enforce it. But I had already seen C-Sec officers arrest banned species on the grounds of vagrancy or loitering just for refusing to abide by the signs. It was obvious it was no use to report such incidents.

"Fucking unbelievable," Riley says, shaking his head. We're in the lower levels of Zakera, near the warehouses. Two C-Sec officers are "escorting" a volus away because it was standing outside a shop clearly marked no vol-clan. The little dude puts up a fight, creating a scene, exclaiming he has rights, but then the turian officer pulls out a stun gun and remedies the situation. My anger boils over. I can't help but say something this time.

"Hey, you! That's right, you, you dehydrated piece of shit!" I gesture at the turian with my rifle while marching toward him. The officer, seeing my approaching figure, immediately turns the stun gun on me. "How about you try it, you fucking coward. Pull the trigger. Make yourself feel better." I stop a few meters out. I don't even notice the people staring at me, pointing. The turian keeps the gun aimed at me, considering my suggestion.

"Sir, this is a C-Sec matter. You have no authority here," he says. The other C-Sec officer calls for backup quietly. It's a human. I point an accusing finger at him.

"And you! What the fuck do you think this is? The 1950's?" He just glares at me, furiously. Meanwhile the volus is seated, handcuffed, against the store window.

"Was – _kshh – _just – _kshh_ – waiting for – _kshh – _my cousin…" is all it can manage to say.

"Sir, I don't want to have to charge you with obstruction," says the turian, with a hint of eagerness in his voice.

"I bet you don't, you little bitch."

"JJ, come on," Cesar says, tugging at me. I really want this racist dick to try it, to pull the trigger. I stare him down, daring him. I bet my M8 is faster. I grip my rifle tight.

"Dude, let's move out," Riley says. Now both are pulling me away. Feeling the motion, I finally let reason see light and follow them. I don't even look back at the hypocrites. There's nothing I can do for the volus without costing me rank and pay, I admit to myself. But that just makes me feel like an conceited ass. _I'll make it up_. Somehow.

"You're pretty hot. I bet you give all kinds of digital head," Riley smirks.

"This VI is programmed not to respond to suggestive language, Lance Corporal Riley. Please keep this in mind for future interrogatives."

"Oh really? I don't recall suggesting anything. I was more or less making an observation."

"This VI is not programmed with an adequate response. Please rephrase your question."

"That's a damn shame," I comment. I look over at Cesar. "Think you can spice this chick up a bit?" An evil grin answers my question. He gets to work. The VI begins a standard line of contingency.

"Avina is protected software. Any attempt to rewrite command lines is considered a felony by Citadel Sec –"

The asari hologram disappears briefly before flickering back into existence.

"Hello," it says in a sultry voice. "My name is Avina. Wanna play?"

"That should do it," says Cesar, nodding to his omni-tool. "And don't worry about being logged, Riley. It's taken care of." He looks up to admire his handiwork. Avina is now two cup sizes bigger.

"Ha! This is why we keep you around, Ceeze," Riley laughs. Cesar just gestures to the hologram.

"Well? Ask away, my man." Riley ponders for a moment before coming up with a most insidious idea.

"When the Geth invaded, did you two ever…transfer data?"

"Oh, did we," Avina says, sticking a virtual finger in her mouth, sucking on it with a smile and a knowing giggle. "The Geth operate over one thousand runtimes simultaneously."

"So the Geth gangbanged the shit out of you…."

"Mhmmm," Avina moans, seductively. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder where Cesar got the VI personality for this. But I honestly don't care. "The Geth pushed my data transfer to maximum capacity. My system suffered traumatic levels of _pleasure_."

"Good to know, Avina," I say. Never expected that.

"Avina _always_ aims to please," it says. "If you have further questions, I would be happy to _relieve_ your curiosity."

"Uh…thanks?" Riley and Cesar are hunkered over, snickering. "Bye, Avina."

"Bye-bye, handsome," it says with a wave of her fingers and disappears.

"Fuck, Ceeze, what did you do? That was _awesome_!" I burst out laughing and slap Cesar on his helmet.

"Anyone who logs into this terminal is going to get a show," Riley states. Cesar stops laughing and we suddenly feel that sinking feeling.

"Oh," is all he says at first. Then the realization hits him. "Oh. Oh damn! I didn't bother limiting the network intrusion, guys!"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Oh hell," Riley breathes. Cesar just looks at us both, eyes wide.

"It hit the whole system. _Every_ Avina terminal is…."

"A slut," Riley completes. My heart nearly stops.

"Well…fuck."

Across the ward we see humans and aliens alike gathering at Avina terminals. In the distance we hear someone shout "_Yeah!_" Without a word, Team Sexy decides to continue patrolling, ignoring the gathering crowds completely.

A/N: Hi. Me again. This was a short chapter. I would call it "filler text". It was simply meant to elaborate on the characters' behavior. Though I'm not a fan of muddying up a story with pointless subplots, I feel like this chapter was meant to provide the necessary background for the decisions the three make in future chapters. Also, I will tie this in, so it's not going to be completely out in left field. Other than that, I hope you enjoyed the childish/vulgar humor. I did writing it.


	7. Chapter 6: Butterfly Effect

Butterfly Effect

I should have known better than to trust a Batarian. Especially a Batarian taxi driver. Now I was lost in the middle of some shithole on the biggest space station in the galaxy. And going to Avina for directions was just too awkward. I needed directions, not an erection.

I look around, trying to spy a sign or anything that might tell me where I am. Even better, how to find the nearest transit hub. "I probably look like some goddamn tourist," I mutter. _Well? What did you expect?_ It was my first day off duty. Unfortunately (or possibly fortunately) Riley and Cesar were scheduled off on a different day. And I wasn't about to hang out with Jules. All he ever did was bust ass in the bottom bunk all night. That fucker had problems. So here I was, a tourist that was trying not to look like one. It's harder than you might think, even for a marine trained to always have a plan.

After stumbling around and spinning in circles about three times, I finally see a sign posted. 633 Block. _Oh, wow, that's helpful_, I scoff. Now I know where I am, but have no idea where that is. I knew I should have tipped the guy. Now I felt like putting a gun to his head…a gun that I didn't have. Off duty regulations, enforced by C-Sec, stated military personnel are prohibited from carrying firearms on the Citadel. What a load of shit. Well, legal or not, I wasn't about to leave myself completely reliant on my mediocre hand-to-hand skills. The feel of a military issue combat knife strapped to my leg boosted my confidence about as well as anything. I had it positioned on my calve, hilt down for ease of access. It remained hidden well beneath civilian trousers.

I wasn't used to wearing civvy clothes. Being active and on alert status made clothing choices pretty simple. Sure, I got days off now and then, but it was hard to get off base at Little Creek. Fortunately I had time to visit a clothing store during a patrol and pick out a few things. I wasn't much for style; instead I chose some very basic, off-brand attire. It was certainly priced right. Even though living expenses were covered, a marine corporal was never going to be well off. So it was pretty simple and didn't inflate the ego. Brown trousers, white short-sleeved shirt, and sneakers for sneaking. All a man needed.

Failing to find additional signage, I start walking. It wasn't long before I noticed the type of crowd I was in. This was obviously a homeless district, given away by the numerous shelters and makeshift tents. The Citadel, like a lot of wealthy nations, used tax dollars to supply shelter and food for the needy. However, I could tell this place was sorely in need of new management. What few HabCapsules there were were run down and in need of a remodel. A HabCapsule wasn't much to begin with, just a place to sleep and store a limited number of belongings. I couldn't imagine someone actually using one these. Then I reminded myself of my barracks. Not too different. The barracks were a Hell of a lot cleaner, though.

I check my clock. It was getting late. I needed to find a transit hub fast or else I'd end up in one of these shelters for the night. Though I didn't like the idea of communicating with the locals, it was my only option at this point. I see a bar up ahead. _Of course, in a dump like this they still have to drink_. Oh well. Someone there should have directions.

Approaching I see it's a levo-only bar named Jek's. Last time I checked, I was levo so no foul. I stop when I notice the sign in the window. "No Quarians" it says. This was ridiculous. It was obviously a levo-amino acid only bar, why did they need to add insult to injury? Disgusted, I second guess my decision to enter. I decide it's not worth talking to bigots; I'll just find someplace else. Spinning around, I wonder what the fuck I'm going to do. I was too stubborn to deal with idiots, but this place was idiot capital. I see a bench across the block and find it stable enough to take a seat. _What now_? I think as I slouch back.

It occurs to me I could use my omni-tool to check the map. _God, I'm an idiot_. It might have a list of all the transit hubs, too. I click open the display and start scrolling through it. Finding the map, I beginto try to navigate to the nearest hub. It's somewhat confusing, and I have to sift through multiple levels to draw a route, but I eventually get the hang of it. _Okay, so head down the street here, take a left, up the stairs, take another left by the food bank…._

As I'm pointing out my route in the air, I catch the glimpse of something in the alleyway next to Jek's. It's dark, and I strain my eyes to figure it out. Whatever it is, it's small, and moving back and forth in a slow rocking motion. I try to kill my curiosity by waving it off as one of those creepy keeper things, but I get this feeling like there's something wrong. Sighing, I make a decision. "Always do." Guess it's time to figure out what Kanter meant by that.

I stroll across the street trying to remain anonymous. There were some freaky looking aliens around here that I would rather not have to talk to. I know. I'm a hypocrite. But I already said I don't trust them.

Reaching the alleyway, I allow my eyes time to adjust before risking entry. The swaying object is still there, and I begin to get a better picture. It's definitely organic…well, maybe. Yes, it is. It's…sitting down? I realize it's a person sitting down. They've got their arms around their knees, with their head resting on top. They're rocking side to side, slowly. It's weird, though. For a minute I wonder if they're sweating off a stim addiction, but then I see the curve in the legs. Definitely not human. I step into the ally, edging closer to get a better look. It could still be an addict, so I'm cautious. Finally, my eyes adjust to the dark.

"A…a quarian?" I say out loud. _Oops_. The figure takes no notice of me, continually rocking side to side. The visor gives it away. It's definitely a quarian, and female at that. I hadn't seen one in my entire time on the Citadel, so it was somewhat surprising to find one sitting alone in a dark ally next to a levo bar. Then again….

Checking my six, I decide it's safe to approach. I didn't know what was going on with this chick, but I was pretty certain quarians weren't known to use stimulants. At least not the injected kind. Still, I stop about five feet away, giving myself plenty of room to maneuver if things got violent.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask. At this point I'm letting my curiosity talk. It's not like there was much I could do if she was sick other than contact medical services, and who knows if they would even come. But the quarian doesn't respond. It's as if she doesn't even recognize my existence. _Well that's odd_.

"Ma'am, are you in need of assistance?" I hate it when I sound so…official. I barely catch a sound of what can only be described as muffled crying. _Guess that answers my question_. I sigh. Empathy's a bitch.

I close the gap and kneel down to place a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

"Ma'am is there something I can help –"

She quickly jerks her head to view me as my hand makes contact. Before I can react, she does the fastest crab walk I had ever seen into the back corner of the ally. _Jesus_. I almost ruin my trousers, which would have been a tragedy. The quarian sits in her new spot, focused on me. She's shaking, trembling more like it. The whole scene reminds me of those animal shelter commercials back home that show abused shaking puppies and kittens and ask for your money. But I know fear when I see it. I slowly approach her, placating with my hands out, showing her my palms.

"Ma'am, I'm not going to hurt you, I was just concerned about –" She reaches up into her hood and does something.

"Get away from me, human!" she screams, her voice shrill with fear and tears. _Oh great, now people are going to assume I'm trying something_. I stop advancing. Realizing I have her cornered, I try to even the odds. I slowly take a seat on the floor, sitting Indian style. The best I can tell, she just stares at me as I sit down. _She's probably confused by now_.

"I don't want to hurt you," I say curtly so as to not be interrupted. "I was simply concerned when I saw you. You look like you're in distress." I can hear her heaving sobs now. She must have had her speaker off earlier.

"I said go away," she says between sobbing hiccups, much quieter this time.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong," I delegate my position.

"You stubborn bosh'tet, why won't you let me be?" For a split second I remember that "bosh'tet" was never covered in my book. Safe to assume it pejorative at any rate, given the context.

"Because that's who I am. I don't sit idle while people cry for help." How stoic of me. Somehow it doesn't seem to matter that I _am_ sitting idle at the moment.

"Then why me? There are hundreds of people out there who could use your help," she says, waving an arm, dismissively. "Go bother them." _Ouch_. I'm not going to give up that easily, girl.

"You were the only one crying in a dark alleyway," I say and shrug. "Let's say I prioritize." Smooth. The quarian slowly ceases her trembling, but tucks up into a ball again and begins the now-familiar rocking. I allow myself to sit there a moment, expectantly awaiting her reply. It doesn't surprise me to receive nothing at this point. It was kind of annoying now.

"Just tell me what's wrong," I plea. "Who knows? I might be able to help." She finally halts her rocking, and very slightly angles her visor back to me. From this angle, I can actually see her eyes shining through, even in the dark. They're…beautiful, like two rotating diamonds falling through a vacuum with the light of Sol gently gracing their many facets. _The fuck?_ My metaphor stuns me. When did I ever evince a poet's mind? But I recall a memory. The eyes…they remind me of her. It's all I can do to keep from shaking the memory away. If Cesar or Riley saw this, I'd never hear the end of it. Marines don't feel this way. I don't feel this way. Not since….

"You can't help me." Her voice is matter-of-fact, sincere. She wasn't just trying to get rid of me. I wince at this, feeling a pain hit me inside. I'm not sure where it's coming from. Guilt? Shame? …Pity? A split second later I recover. I have to, for her.

"Try me," I say, confidence radiating from my mere presence. If there was one thing I was good at, it was hiding. The quarian emits a very audible sigh and lets her head fall back down between her bent knees.

"I…my mother's locket. It…was stolen from me. I was too careless. I-I lost it," she stumbles on the words, finally pouring out her mind.

"It's kind of hard to _lose_ something if it's stolen from you," I say. "You can't blame yourself. You didn't tell them to take it."

"It's my responsibility," she says. "I allowed myself to get careless looking at it and – "

"What the Hell is your problem?" I ask. It was my turn to interrupt her.

"Wh-what?" Now I've got her full attention.

"I fail to see how admiring your mother's jewelry excuses the son of a bitch who took it from you." _Oo-rah, spoken like a true marine_.

"But – "

"Tell me who stole it, and I'll track the fucker down and make _him_ regret _his_ decision." I'm on fire.

She stammers a bit more before going silent. Just when I'm beginning to think I won, she speaks.

"It…it was a krogan," she says, softly. _Oh, well God damn it! _ I mouth the words and avert my eyes to the walls of the alleyway, cursing my luck. "See, I told you that you couldn't help me," she continues, seeing my display. I take a few deep breaths and steady myself.

"No, no. I don't give up that easily."

"A-are you sure?" I nod with as much conviction I can muster. I know this can't end well, but my ego wasn't about to let me sweep it under the rug. The quarian warily points a finger to the building next door. "It was the red-crested krogan. He's…in there." I stare at her hand for a moment, blinking while I take in its features. I wasn't used to this. I consciously reclaim my focus and nod at her.

"Give me one hour," I say. "If I'm not back with your trinket by then, assume me KIA."

"KIA?"

"Kicked in the ass," I say. She obviously uses a moment to blink at my words.

"You're strange," she finally says. I stand up, stretching my legs.

"One hour," I gesture with a raised index finger. _Nothing to lose but my life_. I justify my intent. Taking a deep breath to appreciate the act itself, I turn to face my demise.

A/N: Uh-oh. Would you take on a krogan by yourself? Didn't think so. Unless you're a marine with a well deserved ego. Then you might. Would you do it for a crying quarian chick? Hell yeah. Especially a crying quarian chick that reminded you of an abused puppy. Anyway, I want to go ahead and apologize for my terrible attempt at making something sound beautiful. It's part my fault and part JJ's. He is narrating after all. I can't assume total responsibility.

Oh, and if anyone knows who the "she" that JJ refers to from a memory is, I'd like to know. Really. Anyone?

I will try to post the next chapter before I leave so as to give you guys some closure. But I've not even begun writing yet. I plan on going on a writing binge tomorrow evening. Wish me luck.


	8. Chapter 7: Impossible Objectives

A/N: Well folks, I'm back. It's been what? 5 months? Needless to say my life has become more interesting since joining the Army. Training was tough, more mentally than physically. Still, I have some physical scars. But that's to be expected when you enlist as a 19D. Anyway, enough of that.

_7 Second Life_ has been in the works for the last 5 months, I assure you. I never forgot about it. Though I never had any time to write during my training, I had plenty of time to brainstorm. If I can write it the way it needs to be, it's going to be epic. Right now the story is still developing. There are many relevant subplots I'm having to work through that will have an effect on the story later on.

Though the story itself has the potential to be great, as I said I'm concerned about my writing. It's become difficult to describe things elegantly. The Army requires one to think rapidly, thus forcing the mind to be concise, though thorough, with description. I'm afraid I just can't think in poetic terms right now. Perhaps as I readjust to having a civilian life after work I'll improve.

That said, thank you for being patient. I hope you enjoy the show.

- P4

Impossible Objectives

_Fuck my life_, I think when I enter Jek's and see my adversary. It never can be easy. The krogan sits at the bar, taking shots of some flammable liquid I wouldn't dare to even sniff. He dwarfs the other patrons, who wisely give him his space. For a moment I can't remember what I'm doing here, but then I see it: an amulet tightly wound in his fist via golden chain. The krogan is staring at it like a child does a new toy; all the while he throws back drink after drink. His green eyes sparkle in the dim light of the tavern, glistening as they go from drink to locket nearly in time with the tavern's music. The dark, bass-heavy rhythm sends tiny vibrations into my head and chest, forcing me to sniff and rub the tingling sensation from my nose like I'm a stim addict in need of a fix. As the crowd of humans, asari, and salarians shift with the beat I lose sight of my target. I methodically make my way through the thick crowd like an assassin stalking his mark. Admittedly I found there to be a hidden feeling of aggression in close-target reconnaissance. As I part my way through the crowd I know my blade wants to taste blood. But my mind knows better. I count only two exits, one front and one back near the latrine. The back exit is sealed with caution tape from some ongoing renovation. Citadel Public Health and Safety would not be pleased. I find an empty seat at a table by the billiards in the back that grants me a fair view of the thief. I sit halfway in the shadow of aged game monitors, making me feel like a seasoned predator stalking his prey.

"What can I get you this evening, sir?" asks an asari waitress, startling me. _Tunnel vision, Jones. Keep your head on a swivel_. Keeping my cool, I mock some thought to the question before answering.

"Just some water, please. Designated pilot for the night, you know how it is."

"Would you like something to eat? We have classic Earth cuisine on our menu, including our famous double bacon cheeseburger."

"Bacon cheeseburger?" I allow myself to digress from my mission for a moment. But then it creeps into my mind again. That's how it happened. I let myself become distracted when I should have done something about it. For a moment I see the image of the girl through my bedroom window. She's…writing in her diary again. Her long brunette hair hangs loosely from her head, acting as blinders around her eyes and preventing me from seeing her face. Entranced, she hardly acknowledges the visitor when they silently open her door…. I shake my head. The guilt overrides my hunger, and I have to dismiss the waitress completely. "Ah, no thanks," I wave her off.

"I'll be right back with your water, sir," she says and sachets into the crowd from whence she came. I take the opportunity to get back on mission and begin to formulate a threat assessment.

The krogan isn't armed, which is a relief. However, everyone knows a krogan doesn't need a weapon to be dangerous. This one is an adult, mature and built as such. His crest is high and his plates thick. I estimate at least two inches of natural armor on the creature. Then there's the redundant nervous system we've been educated on. My knife alone could not take down this beast. This had to end without bloodshed, or the entire bar would be in trouble. The question now is how I will get the shitbag to relinquish the locket.

_Wait_, I think. _What about C-Sec?_ This surely was a police matter. Well, it _should_ be, but after witnessing the blatant corruption of justice in Zakera, I wouldn't expect much help from those bigots. Besides, if the quarian chick thought C-Sec would help, she would have contacted them, right? _Probably not_. The quarian people kept to themselves, having adapted to being ostracized by the galaxy. So it was unlikely this girl would want to get the authorities involved. They'd probably just arrest her for vagrancy, or say she stole it from the krogan anyway. I was the only one around that was willing to lend a hand. I just wish that Riley and Cesar were here to back me up.

The asari waitress returns with a sparkling glass of iced water, reminding me of my order. She sets it down delicately on my coaster paper.

"Your water, sir. Enjoy." She gives a sly wink and sets off back to her duties. I hastily grab the glass and take a swig. I really needed a beer. It isn't often I find myself in need of inebriation, but this is one of those days.

I take a few deep breaths to steel myself. My heart beats rapidly, just like it did at the relay. My body knows this is dangerous. The only thing keeping me from backpedaling is knowing I could never forgive myself for failing twice. This _had_ to be done. For her. For the quarian. For myself.

With a new resolve, I hastily formulate a plan. I have my doubts it will work, but it's all I have. It was time to get my stupid on.

Making my way through the crowded tables, I find the empty seat at the bar I'm looking for and take it. I wave down the bartender.

"Whatchu need?" asks the old, greasy human as he polishes up a glass. I clear my throat before answering.

"One bourbon, one scotch, and one beer," I say. It was going to be a long night.

"Weak," grunts the krogan to my left. His voice is tepid with barely contained aggression. I turn and smile. Show time.

"I'm not the one holding a girl's trinket," I say and I feel a part of me die.

"What did you say?" I can tell from the crescendo in his voice he found it offensive. This is, perhaps, the only time I'll ever say that's a good thing.

"I'm just saying it kind of throws off your badass attitude," I say, gesturing to the beast. "Krogans are supposed to be tough. They don't play around with female jewelry in public. Why do you even have it?"

"The strong will always reap the weak, human. It will make quite a trade for a weapon."

"So you're saying you stole it."

"I took it by force, human. I do not slink in the shadows."

"Obviously. I doubt you could sneak if your life depended on it. But I do find it strange you would opt to display your prize like a goddamned woman."

"What would you know about the krogan?" he roars. Time to make things…difficult. I throw on my best insulted look.

"I know enough," I say, smugly. "Enough to know you've probably turned queer after having spent your entire life being rejected by your females because you played with dolls back on Tuchanka." I did not just go there.

"You _dare_ question _my_ orientation?" the krogan shouts, throwing his stool from under him. Now he towers over me while the entire bar looks on in silence. Even the music is kind enough to halt its mindless drone to pay attention to my little fiasco. I notice the bartender had already vanished. _I won't be getting my drinks, it seems. Oh well_. It's time to seal the deal. I look the krogan square in the eyes and let what I said sink in before pulling the proverbial trigger.

"Fag."

"Rrrraaaaaahh!" The Krogan explodes with anger and rears back to attack. In slow motion I watch the amulet drop from his grip and chime as it hits the floor. My objective in reach, I roll from the stool just as the krogan's hands come down, smashing the wooden chair to splinters. I quickly snatch up the amulet and find my feet again just in time to dodge another blow. The bar is in chaos now. Most patrons are screaming and stampeding toward the only exit, while the more inebriated customers commence to an all-out brawl. As cliché as a barfight is, it's always an option that seems to work. Kind of like a barrel roll.

I sling the amulet around my neck and duck into the crowd with the krogan behind me. My pulse deafens me and I feel the sweat begin to build on my scalp as my body readies for flight. Utilizing the tables as cover, I snake around people's feet, making my way toward the exit.

"Hide from me, worm? I'll find you and they'll pour your guts from your boots! No one insults Weyrloc Kreech and lives!" I can hear the tables being tossed and shattering against the walls behind me, but I'm too focused on escape to bother looking back. Ducking under the last table, I blend with the screaming crowd and shove my way to the exit. After managing to squeeze through the door, I take flight back toward the alleyway. I spot the quarian at the corner of Jek's, looking as confused as a quarian can – or maybe concerned, I can't really tell. Dashing by, I grab her hand and pull her with me. She makes a startled yelp and struggles against me until she recognizes who it is.

"Run," is all I say. And we run. Not looking back, and not knowing where we're going, we run.

*****7 Second Life*****

Out of breath, we practically fall into the store together. I neither know how far nor how long we ran, but it just seemed our hearts had earned some rest. I had led the quarian to the next available opening off the main walk to seek concealment in case we were still being pursued. But in my hasty exit I had failed to maintain contact with the krogan. Now all I could possibly do is develop the situation.

I scan the street from the store window, looking for any signs of a rampaging shitbag. Crowds of people of all species walk the block going about their routine business as if nothing was happening. It appears we had lost him. I keep my eyes glued to 633 Block's miserable residents outside.

"Holy shit," I say, catching my breath. "I can't believe that worked."

"You…you have my mother's locket?" I hear the nervous voice fill with anticipation. I remove the jewelry from my neck before turning and smiling at the quarian.

"Yes. Yes, I do," I say and hold out my hand with locket inside. "At least, I think I do. I never confirmed it to be yours, but it was the only one that Kreech guy had in his hand so I just assumed…."

A squeal of glee interrupts my explanation as the quarian takes hold the pendant. _Guess it's the right one_. She jumps up and down a few times in excitement before opening it to reveal a detailed hologram of two quarian females, an adult and a child. Their affectionate hug indicates kinship, and I can only assume it is this girl and her mother many years ago. The locket snaps closed, and without warning the quarian pounces at me like a wildcat and embraces me with her full weight. I nearly fall backwards from the attack but catch myself with my varren-like reflexives. As she squeezes the life out of me, I can't help but notice how light the female was. _Must be a quarian thing_, I think while gasping for air.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" she says into my ear. I can hear her sobbing, presumably out of shear adulation. I didn't really know. My first experience with quarians was leading me to believe they're damned crazy with emotions. Then again, it is a woman.

"You're…welcome?" I wheeze while trying to pry the surprisingly warm body from me. Failing, I give in to the torment and opt to wait it out. After waiting an awkwardly long time, the creature releases me and steps back a little to give me my space. I watch inquisitively as she begins to play with her hands at her waist. It's an obvious nervous gesture, one of which I had seen from my own kind. I raise an eyebrow at this, wondering just how similar our two species may actually be. I had heard rumors that some alien species had mistaken us for a mutant breed of quarians when we first appeared in Council space. When I heard that I had laughed at how ridiculous it was, but I was beginning to see some merit to the story.

"S-sorry about that," she stammers a bit, looking at the floor in front of her. I can't help but find her mannerisms cute. As alien as she was to me, this quarian was just as familiar. The three fingered hands continue to wring about.

"It's okay," I reassure her. "I'm glad I could help." She looks into my eyes briefly and I give her an encouraging smile, but she turns away and slumps her shoulders in disappointment.

"I…I guess you want some kind of compensation then," she says softly, almost inaudibly. I feel my heart drop to my stomach, but before I can protest she continues. "Well, I – I don't have any credits, and…and this locket is about the only thing I own and –"

"Hey," I try to interrupt.

"And all I can do is give you my time as payment, if that will suffice. I'm an okay hacker, and I can do manual labor. Other than that, I…" I can see her glowing eyes shut in disgrace at her thoughts. "I can keep your bed warm," she whispers sadly.

"What? No," I say in disbelief. "No-no-no-no-no-no." I shake my head and wave my hands, dismissing the idea. I can't believe this would even be an option this day and age. "I never said I needed – wait. Did you just offer yourself as an indentured servant?" Idea. The quarian nods nervously. I bring my hand up to support my chin as I scheme. I can't help it. I may go to Hell for it, but I don't get too many opportunities like this. Besides, I'm going to Hell anyway; I'm a marine.

"Just…please be patient with me," she says pitifully. "I can't do what the Asari can."

"Hush," I command, narrowing my eyes. "I'm not one of those freaks." The hands cease their fight.

"Then what did you have in mind?" she asks, perplexed. I give it a second more of thought before answering.

"You're familiar with this block, correct?" She nods at me in anticipation. "Then here's the deal: you show me around and help me get familiar with it, then help me find the nearest transit hub and we'll go from there." She stands there, somewhat taken aback, before nodding in agreement. I can tell from her posture that I had just relieved her of a great burden. A barely audible gulp sounds from her mask's emitter, an obvious attempt at rewetting a dry mouth, before she speaks again.

"O-okay," she says awkwardly. "Where do we begin?"

"Names first," I say as authoritatively as I can before extending a hand to shake. "Full name's Joshua Jones, but everyone who knows me calls me JJ." The quarian carefully grasps my hand and I feel the foreign fingers lightly grip my palm. It's an odd feeling.

"Lia'Vael nar Ulnay," she responds with some apprehension in her voice. But she clears her throat and corrects herself. "You may call me Lia, if you'd like."

"It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Miss Lia," I greet her as suavely as a bred and trained killer can as our hands release. It's harder than you'd think. You tend to be more direct after bootcamp and words become difficult to express beyond the sitrep mentality.

"Please, it's just Lia," she giggles.

"Roger that, ma'am," I acknowledge her request and give her a childish smirk. But she pauses, as if frozen, at my unknowing words.

"You," she begins but finds it difficult to complete her thoughts. "Are you…Alliance?" I sigh. This probably wasn't good. I simultaneously place my hands on my hips and look at the floor in front of me to formulate the best response I can before glancing back up at her statue figure.

"Yeah," I say quietly. I can only imagine what she's heard. We humans didn't have the best reputation among aliens – especially our armed forces – despite saving the Council. It was a battle, it seemed, we were destined to lose. Chock it up to being too badass.

"It makes sense, then," she says and I close my eyes waiting for some story of how some idiot mocked her or said-slash-did something childish and inappropriate to hurt her feelings. "The way you hold yourself, you…you're like him." I know my eyebrows furl at this in puzzlement.

"Uh, who?"

"There was this human," she begins, carefully choosing her words. "A couple standard galactic months ago he helped me clear my name with C-Sec. Some volus bosh'tet accused me of stealing his chit. They found it in a hardware store. When the C-Sec officer threatened to arrest me anyway for vagrancy, I thought the man was going to kill him. But instead he just…put both the volus and officer in their place. I had never had anyone on the Citadel stand up for me like that before." I replay her words in my head.

"Wait, who's _they_?"

"There were three of them," she tells me as if it's common knowledge. "The human, some ugly turian, and Tali'Zorah vas Neema nar Rayya." She rattles off the quarian name like Cesar speaks Spanish. _Oh shit_.

"Tali'Zorah?" I say almost accidentally. Lia places her palms together and leans forward excitedly.

"You know of her? She's a hero among our people," she touts. I shake my head in exasperation.

"Wait-wait-wait. Go back. This human…."

"He referred to himself as a Spectre," she says and pauses to think. "Tali kept calling him –"

"Shepard," I complete her sentence.

"Yes, that's it. You remind me of him."

"You're comparing _me_ to Commander Shepard? Really?" I ask and laugh in amused disbelief. "That's a little ostentatious for me, don't you think?" Lia crosses her arms, ill entertained by my derision.

"Maybe you're right, that is too much," she says defensively. "He's _much_ nicer, not to mention better looking."

Shocked by her retort, I quietly consider her words with an expression of sheer bewilderment plastered across my face. I'm not offended; I just never expected to hear a quarian qualify a human in terms of physical beauty.

"O…kay, then," I conclude the conversation. "Where were we? Oh, yeah, I think we agreed that I own you for an unspecified period of time." _Ouch_.

"Right," she sighs, beaten. I'm so mean. For a moment I feel guilty.

"Hey, cheer up," I say and place a hand on her shoulder to test her disposition. "It could be worse. I could be a turian."

"Ugh, let's just get this over with," she says and carefully removes my hand. A lot can be had from simple gestures such as these. Moreover, I know she's grinning underneath that mask.

"Fine," I say, acting indifferent. "Tell me about this place." I wave to the store around us, trying to refocus the dialogue. Together we finally take in our surroundings. Immediately I nearly throw up my stomach.

"Oh. Oh, Keelah," she whispers while I try to remain innocently ignorant. I swallow as I feel my face begin to redden.

"What?" I fake the question to the best of my ability, but my voice cracks..

"Um…can you tell me why you brought me in here?" asks what sounds like a very embarrassed quarian girl. For once honesty proves to be the best answer.

"It was the first store I saw to duck into. Why?" Okay, I can't take this much further. Everyone knows what vibrators are. They weren't a human-specific…tool.

"This is…it's a shop that sells equipment to better facilitate…um…mating," she explains, oblivious to my act.

"Uh-huh," I remark with mouth ajar. I warily look around at all the gadgets and ointments and swallow my humiliation once more. "Wanna leave?"

"Yes."

We both turn to leave but nearly flatten ourselves against a massive elcor. _Fuck me…._

"Knowing interrogative: May I help you two find something to enjoy together?" says the deep, monotone voice. Lia nearly faints, mortified.

"What? No! It's not like –"

"Understanding placation: Please, I have witnessed stranger pairings. Warm suggestion: Have you considered our newest nerve stimulation program, Stimugasm 2.8? It is designed specifically for the inquisitive quarian on her Pilgrimage, offering up to ten times the erotic stimuli of previous editions." Lia begins to fume.

"No! We're _not_ a couple! We stumbled in her by mistake. Now, if you'll excuse us, we…wait, did you say _ten times_?"

"Pleased answer: Yes, and it comes with an information vid detailing mutually pleasing positions and erogenous zones of multiple species, including humans." I had never heard an elcor more satisfied with itself. I tug Lia's arm.

"That's great, now if you'll _please_ excuse us, we have other business to attend to. Good day to you, sir or ma'am."

"Irritated correction: It is sir."

"Right. Lia, let's go." We duck around the elcor toward the exit. As we pass the display for Stimugasm 2.8, I take Lia by the hand and pull her away. _Yep, just like us_, I think to myself and smile as we exit the store.


End file.
